


Flames on Your Heart

by sweeterthangod



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I’m back, M/M, Sad sad sad, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Victor has a shitty childhood, stolen from his home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8954533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthangod/pseuds/sweeterthangod
Summary: In a world where you feel the strongest emotions of your soulmate, Yuuri Katsuki, at age eight, has been in pain his entire life. Victor Nikiforov, stolen from his home at a young age, is rescued from an oppressive, abusive place where children are forced to skate and win in order to survive by Yakov Feltsman. Still in love with his only home, the ice, Victor decides to live up to his name and train under his savior.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally saw this concept in a Klance fic I'm currently following, Blueprints by UnderTheSilentStars! Felt the need to add this note since people have been saying it's interesting! It's not quite the same, however, I felt that credit should be given for inspiring this~!

__

* * *

 

 

It's been a constant ache over his heart, burning sometimes with such pain that Yuuri feels like his soulmark will fall off, like it’s being ripped from his chest somehow. The deal is, whatever strong emotions your soulmate feels, you feel in turn. Now, these have to be incredibly strong emotions to pass through the marks connecting two people. If one wishes, they can touch their mark to directly send feelings, mainly used to comfort the other as they experience something awful. Yuuri must be connected to a war refugee or someone in some other terrible situation, because that’s the only reason he can think of for the heart-wrenching pain and anxiety he’s felt constantly for his entire life. What the hell is happening to his soulmate to make them feel this way? Yuuri is constantly sending comfort and ease their way, though often it is difficult to live comfortably with the steady stream of angst flowing through him. He used to cry all the time, far past the norm expected of a child his age, and his parents took him to the doctor on a fateful Wednesday afternoon, during a particularly bad onslaught of emotion.

“Yuuri,” his doctor says, ignoring the whimpering and gasps of his young patient, “How long have you been going through these painful phases?”

“Ah...most of my - AH! - life Dr. Yaki.” A small figure hunches over on the bed in the examination room, and the doctor checks his vitals before attaching some machine Yuuri doesn’t understand to his chest, over his mark. His mother is rubbing his back, used to the violent tremors of her son.

“This is a mark observer, it will measure the pain you feel in the nerves connecting your brain to your mark. If need be, we can put you on a medication that will weaken the bond you have with your soulmate’s mark. It will, of course, not weaken the emotional bond between you when you meet, it is only a precaution to make sure you aren’t too strongly affected by the emotions your soulmate feels. They are painful emotions, yes?”

“Yes,” Yuuri manages, “I don’t know - the names for them...ah...specifically.”

“Do they occur at certain times?”

“Mainly at times when I’m not supposed to be awake, but they can happen when I’m up, too.”

The doctor finishes attaching Yuuri to the machine and flicks a switch. Revving to life, the mark observer hums pleasantly, singing a short, robotic song to let the users know it’s on and fully functioning. “Sounds like my washing machine,” the doctor laughs, attempting to lighten the mood. Yuuri allows a small smile.

The machine makes several more cutesy noises before beeping in an altogether alarming fashion, and the doctor is inspecting Yuuri’s mark with renewed curiosity. He makes several notes while Yuuri continues to suffer in mostly silence, the occasional complaint slipping out. Hiroko Katsuki eyes the machine as it continues to beep sporadically.

“Is your machine functioning normally?” 

The doctor looks up at that, and nods fervently. “The issue is not with the machine, it’s more the soulmate connection your son has with his other half. There are varying degrees of compatibility between soulmates, and your son and his are practically joined at the hip in those terms. Definitely not platonic soulmates, that’s for sure. I have to admit that I’ve never seen something quite like it. The major drawback, of course, it that your son’s soulmate is feeling immense amounts of emotional pain, and without being able to control it, they are inadvertently causing him to feel their pain at the same caliber as they are. This is an extraordinary occurrence!”

Yuuri, however, looks more like he wants to vomit than celebrate this revelation. “My soulmate is in so much pain that I will feel it even if they try to control their emotions? That’s awful!”

“Yes, that part is decidedly not something to be happy about,” the doctor answers gravely. “I feel I must tell you that I am obligated as a medical professional to report this, and upload your mark to the database to be matched. This is a serious situation, if your soulmate is feeling this way, you, as a member of their family, are allowed to remove them from their current guardians if you so choose.”

Yuuri froze, unable to respond. Hiroko and Dr. Yaki spent a long time discussing their options while Yuuri only half-listened. Take his soulmate away from whoever was causing them such pain? It seemed like the right choice. But lately, as he mentioned to the doctor before he and his mother went home, he had felt a softer emotion - hope. He would give his soulmate some time to figure out what they felt before he did something so drastic.

***

Cold, bitter wind sliced at the pronounced wrinkles in Yakov’s face. His mission was no less bitter - the memory of a child crying into their sheared hair brought on shivers he couldn’t attribute to the cold. Icy, sinister smiles as food was withheld, lashes given, and shouts of possession. You belong to the ice, you belong to me.

Yakov had heard these psychologically damaging signs before, had experienced them himself as a child. After achieving his freedom, he dedicated himself to protecting others who reminded him of his past, who were forced to skate for the power and control of it all. The bleak midwinter snow caught in his hat, and he shook it off before entering the house. Lilia frowned in greeting. 

“Today, how was he? Still afraid?”

“A bit better. I have a feeling this one will be particularly difficult.”

Lilia sighed, returning to her newspaper. “Disgusting, really. The whole idea.  Children forced to perform like elephants at a circus. Is he out?”

“Out in the cold, for sure. No one knew they weren’t there by choice. He conditioned them, Pavlovian zhopa.”

“How many?”

“Seventeen. One was a baby.”

That got her attention. Lilia turned sharply. “A baby? What are they doing now, putting babies on ice? How would they skate? Horrific. How did the infant fare?”

“Very well, actually. Just got there, in fact. His grandfather had been looking for him everywhere.” This seemed to appease her, and she sipped her tea in thought.

“What is the name of the one with no parents? The one you’ve had to keep an eye on?”

“Victor. Victor Nikiforov.” 

***

The pale, silver color of his hair glows in the light of the snow falling outside in St. Petersburg. His cerulean eyes gleam brightly for the first time in a long time, and his heart- shaped mouth timidly forms a smile. A man eyes him from the hallway, making sure that he’s alright. Victor Nikiforov’s breath ghosts over the windows as he takes in the cityscape, and somewhere in Japan, a small boy of eight feels happiness from his soulmate instead of pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed Yuuri's age from six to eight bc Yuri wasn't born yet lol. Peace


	2. Water Cooling on Ice

 

 

* * *

Yakov Feltsman considered the child in front of him, clearly hiding himself behind a mask of happiness. Frowning, he rubbed his temples. “You want to skate? After all that?”

He was met with voracious nodding. “I do not blame the ice for what they did. The ice is my home.”

Victor Nikiforov fiddled with a toy while eyeing the skates they allowed him to keep, and Yakov felt a surge of nostalgia.

_ “I wish to skate!” _

_ “Child, they imprisoned you on the ice. Are you not happy to be free?” _

_ “Da, but the ice is my home!” _

The exact same sentiment, now more than thirty years later. He sighed, dusting the snow from his coat as he set it on the desk. “Vitya, I will allow you to return to the ice,” he said, noting the slight flinch when he raised his hand. “But you will train under me, yes?”

“Yes!” 

“Tell me, why is it that you are so attached to the ice. The others there were traumatized by it. Some of them wouldn’t even go out in the snow.”

“The ice takes all of my pain and turns it into a dance. It doesn’t care if I fail, it accepts me as long as I work hard to earn its respect.” The child is brighter now, rambling about his love of the ice. Yakov nods at intervals and carefully moves to pat the boy on the shoulder as he leaves later on. This time, Victor does not react in fear.

***

Three months after the investigation into the child skaters from Moscow, a small figure leaps and spins on the cool surface of the ice, aweing his companions. His rinkmates all cheer for him even as he falls after attempting a double toe-loop, and crowd around him to gush. Yakov quirks an eyebrow to gauge the boy’s reaction, but Victor seems to have accepted the closeness of the others. 

“Vitya,” he calls out, “Don’t let your free leg get in the way of your jumps.” Victor turns fluidly to face his coach, and nods in kind to his advice. He skates away to try again, and Yakov lets a small smile capture his usually frowning features.

***

“Vitya!” Lilia is tapping his outstretched leg with a thin rod, gently moving his limbs into position. “Remember to hold this position like so, if you practice it the other way it will interfere with your posture!”

“Yes, Miss Lilia!” Victor holds until she tells the class to change positions, and as he moves to perfect his stance, he feels an old ache in his shoulders from previous abuse. He gasps and bites back pain as he holds the current position, but Lilia notices anyways.

“Vitya, take a five minute break!”

“Yes,” he says, defeatedly. He knows she won’t let him stay even if he tries to argue. He knows because he’s attempted to do so before. Sighing, he catches a meaningful look from her as he sits down to massage and stretch his shoulder. This is how she shows her love, he thinks, and looks back appreciatively. Lilia doesn’t go easy on him, but she knows his limits.

After all, he’s been her student for a year now.

***

Yuuri Katsuki embraces the warmth of summer, but still skates when he gets the chance. He’s not sure why the ice feels like a second home to him, but for some reason it fills him with happiness he can’t explain. He certainly isn’t the best, but he isn’t too bad, either. His father suggested lessons the previous night, and in all honesty, Yuuri can’t say he was surprised. His sister nodded in agreement, while his mother laughed and said she’d take him to the Ice-Castle later in the week. Yuuri loved his family.

He was twelve years old when Yuuko rushed over to him and turned on the television at the ice rink, alight with excitement. “Victor Nikiforov is skating today! He’s the one I told you about! Isn’t he so pretty? Look!” 

And Yuuri did look. Pale, silver hair cascaded behind his petite figure as he smiled on the ice, looking perfectly content. Like he was at home. Yuuri suddenly felt a rush of happiness course through his mark, just as the young Russian skater received his score. Yuuri smiled, maybe his soulmate was watching Victor as well. He sent pleasant feelings back.

***

Victor grinned for the cameras, and when they turned away from him and the Kiss and Cry, he felt a sweet sensation reverberate through his mark. He spun around while Yakov muttered about his manners, though he knew the retired skater was proud of him. Victor poked him excitedly.

“Yakov, did you see my entrance? I fixed it just like you wanted, and I even looked at you when I did it!” Giddy, he clung to his coach, who mumbled something about childish antics before he eased himself out of Victor’s grip. 

“Da, Vitya, you were beautiful.” Yakov gave him a tired look as the silver hair that he was sure the boy would be known for splashed against his face. 

“Yakov!” he cried, hugging him again.

“Vitya, please.”

“Sorry~! I’m just very, very, very, very happy!”

“Vitya, you’re always happy,” he responded, glancing warily at his student, who clutched a stuffed dog to his chest. 

“Not always,” Victor answered simply. Yakov’s frown lessened as he rubbed his back through the black fabric of his costume.

“I know, Vitya. Did they respond today?” Yakov already knew the answer to that question, but talking about his soulmate usually made Victor feel better.

“Da, they did, they always do,” he replied, looking at the scoreboard dreamily. “Yakov, can I talk to the press?”

“Da, why?”

“I want to get something off my chest.”

“Vitya…”

“I want to tell the world something...something to ease my guilt.”

Yakov stared at the young skater, bright and in his prime, and nodded slowly. Victor gave him a cheerful smile before they left the Kiss and Cry.

Reporters for the event surrounded them instantly. Victor shined for them all, blinding some with his innocent laughs and child-like mannerisms. He answered some of their more pressing questions before he grew serious.

“I’d like to share something with you - with the world.”

Voices chorused around him that yes, of course, without a doubt. He nodded in thanks.

“People ask me why I kept skating, even after the events of my childhood.” He clutched the fabric of his costume over his mark with determination. “You already know why, you’ve heard me answer that question a thousand times. But today I’d like to tell you my secret reason, something I’ve never told anyone.”

Yakov’s eyebrows shot up at that. Secret reason? What could it possibly be?

“I’ve always known I have a strong connection with my soulmate, stronger than is normal. That is why I also believe that they suffered with me when I was a child through some of the worst parts of my life.”

The buzz around them had silenced, and other skaters had stopped to listen in. The room so quiet, save for the flashing of cameras, that Victor thought he could hear his heart beating outside his chest. He continued.

“I will never be able to repay them for what they did for me, sending me hope and comfort through - through…” 

Yakov’s grip on his shoulder tightened as the words got stuck in his throat. Victor looked up with eyes that shone from unshed tears.

“I can’t change what happened or apologize enough for what they went through with me, what they gave to me. So I will live up to my name and be a man of victory, skating for them to prove that their love is important to me. I don’t know where you are, or whether you’re watching. But I am forever grateful that you and I are connected. I love you.”

After that, the room erupted, the press asking questions at such a pace and so many different languages in their haste that Victor couldn’t understand a single word. Skaters and coaches who had stopped nearby to listen were moving away, some shaken and others with tear-stains on their sleeves. Yakov herded him away from the barrage of lights and chatter, excusing them in the most polite way possible. 

When they returned for the awards ceremony, the crowd nearly deafened the sixteen year old. Victor looked at the spectators, most of whom had heard about the now widespread interview, and gave them a watery smile as he accepted his first gold medal in the senior division.

_ This is for you, my precious rodstvennaya dusha. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This got some attention so I decided to load another chapter right away~! Rodstvennaya dusha means soulmate in Russian. The marks on Yuuri and Victor do have a shape, I'm just deciding what it is. Haven't answered any comments, but will do so asap! Feedback is accepted and welcomed, this is not beta-read (more like soulmate au word-vomit). Also, I didn't translate it earlier, but for those who are wondering, Yakov has a potty-mouth and called the man who stole Vitya an ass (zhopa). As a final note, the grandpa who got cradle-robbed makes a damn good katsudon piroshki. ;) ;)


	3. Linked by Design

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would like to thank someone who I think might not have an ao3 (they left long comments on ch 2) cuz I couldn't find their username, or maybe I'm an idiot who doesn't know how to use this site lol. Their comments made me post this because they inspired me, and had some thought-provoking things to say about this work. I'd like to thank you again for your thoughts on my fic! 
> 
> also pls help me the next ch is underway and im dying,,,scoob. xoxo

* * *

 

 

Yuuri breathed steadily, adjusting his footing on the ice as he carved circular, aimless shapes into its skin. Skating when he was nervous had always been cathartic, and now, as he prepared to go to America for the next step in his training, he felt immense pressure and anxiousness. He was never that great at being social, after years of concentrating on making sure his soulmate never felt alone. Only in his darkest moments had he been angry with them, going so far as as to slap himself when he did. Yuuri continually reminded himself that his soulmate was trying. He couldn't even deny it, he felt all of their efforts, for God’s sake.

Detroit. He'd found a great coach, Celestino, and when he'd visited earlier in the year he had even made some friends. Making friends had always been kind of difficult for him; being exposed to the cruelest feelings of despair of hopelessness at such a young age had left him with a bitter taste in his mouth, especially when it came to strangers. However, the Thai skater who'd shown him his hamsters and had complimented his cat-ear beanie was Splenda in human form, and Yuuri found that he lessened the sour bite the unknown. 

Sadly, the large pit in his stomach wouldn't leave, like he was on the Vomit Comet of emotional roller coasters. The kid with the hamsters, named Phichit Chulanont, had taken him to an authentic American theme park, and Yuuri’d left feeling like his brain had fallen out of his head at some point during the rides and was shoved back in once the younger skater felt he'd had the full experience. He thought the metaphor appropriate.

He felt easy comfort flood his body through his mark, potent enough to leave him blissfully unaware of his surroundings. His soulmate was truly a gift, and he was glad he never had to intervene in their life. Much to the chagrin of his father, who had taken his son’s predicament the hardest. Yuuri had made sure to let his father know that his soulmate was alright, that they were happy, whenever he could. He knew it made Toshiya feel better.

And his soulmate...he'd rather meet them naturally, when they came together as dictated by the ebb and flow of the universe. He was also relieved that they had stopped feeling pain so often; it occurred sometimes nowadays, but it was blessedly rare. 

Somewhere in Russia, a young man with silver hair and a new gold medal in his collection sighed happily, and not because of his recent triumph on the ice. It was the middle of the night, but he was wide awake anyways. 

He fell asleep to the pleasant hum of his soulmate’s affection, figure eights swirling in his mind for some reason.

***

Victor was plagued by random bursts of anxiety that stemmed from his mark like weeds as he grew older. He nearly had a fit during an interview when a particularly violent one occurred. He had felt burgeoning anxiousness for a few weeks, softer and less intrusive than this, but the weight of the attack left him breathless. Yakov pulled him aside, a supportive hand on his shoulder.

“What? What's happened? Is it your soulmate again? Are they alright?”

Victor nodded, steadying himself. Yakov knew how important Victor’s soulmate was to him.

“Yes, they'll be alright. Something bad just happened, but they're calming down, I can feel it. Ah, hold on,” he said. He focused on sending comfort for a minute. Yakov, who was used to this routine of constant emotion flowing through and out of Victor, be it positive or not, nodded and pat his shoulder twice before giving him some time alone. With their strong bond, Victor and his soulmate were always in touch. Yakov sighed, remembering Victor’s more angsty years.

_ “They hate me! They must!” _

_ “They do not, Vitya. Stay calm—” _

_ “I'm responsible for their pain! I got my mark when I was four, I put an infant through hell—Yakov I wanted to die and they felt that! They felt everything, I—” _

_ Yakov’s knuckles turned white from their grip on the chair Victor sat in, wrecked. He lifted a fist  and felt plaster give under his rage. The young skater fell silent as his coach sheepishly eyed the fresh dent in the wall. _

_ “Vitya,” Yakov said tiredly, examining the white dust on his fist, “You are not at fault for what happened when you were taken. Please stop blaming yourself for what you went through. Besides, have you ever felt hate from them before? You're too close to not have felt it if they did.” _

_ Victor bent his head slowly in response, then rose from his chair to embrace his coach and Yakov let exhausted sobs soak his jacket. He wasn't new to a skater’s breakdown, but Victor had always felt more like son than a student.  _

_ “Skater’s hearts are as fragile as glass,” he said, looking into Victor’s eyes.  _

Now, as Victor smiled and pressed his hands to his mark, Yakov knew he could handle his soulmate’s emotional snaps. He noticed, however, that Victor’s smile fell flat by the time he had finished consoling his other half.

“Vitya?”

“They feel...guilty. Them. Feel guilty. About making  _ me _ experience  _ their _ emotions.”

“Vitya, they love you, of course they'll feel guilty about putting you through a distressing emotion. You felt the same, yes?”

“I...hadn't thought of it like that.”

“Allow them to feel guilty, then, but let them know you support them. Communication is key, just because you have such a strong emotional bond doesn't mean you won't misunderstand each other. Relationships are difficult, with or without soul marks. As long as you work to make sure you're both on the same page, you should be fine.”

Victor looked up sadly at his coach, his friend. His mentor. “The divorce was settled then?”

Yakov sighed heavily and let the skater place a comforting hand on his back. “Da,” he admitted tiredly. 

Victor looked at his shoes, his recently cut hair glinting in the dim light of the hallway. “How is your mark?” 

It was a very personal question, but Yakov answered nonetheless. Maybe it was because Victor reminded him of himself. Maybe it was because the divorce had also been hard on him, though he wasn't legally their son.  Maybe it was because it had often felt like he was.

“It's been interesting, certainly. Our bond hasn't lessened, and that...that's just a fact we both had to come to terms with.” He turned to Victor and smiled, a gesture he did sparingly. “But I don't regret being her soulmate, and I don't regret a minute of our time together.”

The two of them reminisced about the better times the three of them spent together, and eventually both of their marks felt lighter.

***

Light filtered through the spaces between Yuuri’s fingers, tears hitting his glasses and obscuring what was left of his vision. His beloved dog, named for his favorite skater, had passed away. Vicchan, who had been like a member of his family, was gone. He hadn't even been able to say goodbye, and the pain of losing him had agitated his focus at the worst possible time. He'd messed up his last skate, his free skate in the Grand Prix Final. Celestino had attempted to console him, but inside of him the dam of loss had broken. Yuuri had excused himself to the bathroom, not paying attention to whatever current commotion was occurring on the rink. Something about his idol; normally a performance live by Victor Nikiforov would take all of his attention, but with the weight of his childhood pet’s death on his mind he found himself unable to care.

As he sat, locked in a stall, he felt a bright spark burn through his grief. Receiving emotions from someone else was like sticking a thread through a needle, except the eye of said needle was a mark on your body. Yuuri slipped a hand beneath his shirt to place a shaking palm to his mark, which covered the area right above his heart. Children tended to be more emotional in general and over the years, Yuuri had come to realize that while he had a grasp of his soulmate’s emotions most of the time, as they'd aged and gained more control he wasn't sharing quite as much as when they were younger. A pair of unique, intricate snowflakes linked by design, the eye of his hypothetical needle, sent his response back.

His soulmate, though clearly affected by his emotions, was attempting to comfort him. That brought on a new wave of tears, but a kick aimed at his stall door brought him back to his senses. This was, after all, a public restroom. He opened the door to see a skater from the Junior division, Yuri Plisetsky, glaring at him. The “Russian Punk”, as he was labeled. Yuuri was good with names. 

The teen opened his mouth, but froze as a look of shock sunk into his face; he kept looking from Yuuri to where the older skater’s hand was (over his mark) and then back again. He blinked several times before he grabbed Yuuri by his unoccupied hand and forcibly dragged him out of the bathroom.

“What are you doing?! What the hell is going on?!” His stained glasses made it hard to see. Yuuri protested all the way, even more so when he realized where he was being taken. “Why are we—?”

“Victor!” Yuri’s shout caught the attention of a confused and teary Victor Nikiforov, who looked up from his chest where his hands were firmly planted. Yuuri felt the same confusion seconds later. 

He stopped dead in his tracks and worked out Yuri’s conclusion. He felt his heart skip a beat, noting that where Victor held his hands, the same place on Yuuri’s chest bore a soulmark.

“Yuri? What's going on?” Victor quirked a brow at the junior skater, who shoved Yuuri in front of him. 

“Found your soulmate in the bathroom,” he said. Yuuri was kind of surprised he just said it outright, like telling someone he'd found their missing car keys. And Victor felt that surprise. He looked between the two of them, then at Yuuri’s post-cry tear streaks that had dried on his face. An older man Yuuri recognized as Victor’s coach looked like he'd eaten a brick and was trying to pass it. 

“The...bathroom?” Victor looked at Yuuri like he was a mirage and would dissipate as soon as he touched him.

“The bathroom. I just told you.” Yuri sounded very awkward, and Yuuri heard him back away from the scene. “Have fun.”

Have fun?

“Bathroom…” Victor Nikiforov was still staring in amazement at a very shaken Yuuri Katsuki, who was trying not to throw up from all of the conflicting feelings he was experiencing.

But wait, Victor could probably feel those, too, because he was his soulmate.

Soulmate. His. Victor Nikiforov. Soulmate. 

What. 

“Bathroom!” An excited cry brought him back to the present and Yuuri felt arms encircle him as Victor’s face found its way into the crook of his neck. He froze, allowing his...soulmate (????) to squeeze him like a stuffed animal. Or a stress ball. The Russian coach, Yakov, was rubbing his hand against his temples. Apparently this was what Yuuri would be dealing with for the rest of his—

Wait. The rest of his life. With Victor Nikiforov.

The world went fuzzy before it went black.

***

_ “Twenty-seven.” _

_ “Happy birthday, idiot.” _

_ “Yuri, can I confide in you?” _

_ “The hell would you do that for?” _

_ “I need to talk to someone. Will you listen?” _

_ “Make Yakov listen to your whining. I'm only here because you said there'd be cake.” _

_ “There was.” _

_ “Well it's gone now so I think I'll leave.” _

_ “I see.” _

_ “Agh, alright!” _

_ “I'm not making you do anything.” _

_ “Shut up and talk, Victor.” _

_ “...Yuri?” _

_ “I know! Just talk if you wanna talk, dammit!” _

_ “...Alright. I won't keep you long. I'm worried about meeting my soulmate.” _

_ “Everyone is. Elaborate.” _

_ “Ah, I'm worried that we won't meet for a long time and we won't have enough time to be together.” _

_ “Oh.” _

_ “I'm already twenty-seven, and most people meet their soulmate by the time they're twenty-four or twenty-five.” _

_ “You're not a statistic, Victor. And geez, not a lot of time? Maybe not a lot of time as a prime skater but you're not gonna die when you turn thirty.” _

_ “That's sweet, but I'm still nervous.” _

_ “Isn't your soulmate a ball of nerves? What about how they feel?” _

_ “They were born four years after I was, so they must not...be worried…” _

_ “Victor, did you literally just figure out that your soulmate is the meeting age? And that maybe you haven't met because they were too young?” _

_ “...” _

_ “God, Victor. You can be so thick sometimes.” _

_ “Ahahaha...sorry. Seems I've wasted your time.” _

_ “Forget about it, moron. And don't stress about it—I'm sure your soulmate will love the shit out of you and the two of you will annoy the hell out of me and Yakov ‘til you're old and grey...er.” _

_ “Awww, Yuri~!” _

_ “Shut up! Stop hugging me!” _

_ *** _

**_Victor Nikiforov Reveals Theme for this Season: Longing_ **

_ *** _

The last to skate his free program, Victor Nikiforov was shot through the heart quite literally with agony. Grief swam through him and poured its hot, aching streams into his very core, and it took all he had not to drop to the ice and wail. Barely holding himself together, he took his position and steadied himself. Stay close to me, never leave my side. Well it felt like someone  _ had _ left his side and he was powerless to stop it. The raw emotion bled into his routine and he knew the questions people would ask when he got off the ice—why the hell did Victor look so sad during his skate? The issue was, Victor didn't know himself what was going on, but as he spun with the combined force of his own strength and the pain inside him, he supposed that was the catch to having a person meant just for you: you had to go through each other's shit the same way you went through each other's bliss.

The program finished and Victor closed his eyes slowly, the sadness still seeping through him. He didn't make it to the edge of the rink before he collapsed into tears, Yakov as bewildered as the rest of the crowd. 

“Vitya?” Yakov got him to the Kiss and Cry (though there was a lot more of the latter going on) and fretted that his soulmate had really done it this time.

Victor took deep breaths as he tried to take control again, and Yakov’s attempted encouragement about his win didn't ease anything. Another gold medal. 

Astounding. 

Meanwhile, Victor felt like his heart and soulmark were being stir-fried by depression. 

He hardly noticed Yuri by his side, leaving after muttering about some major disappointment and needing to teach someone a lesson in motivation. It was the least of his problems.

The pain faded slowly as Victor massaged his mark, making a real effort to reach his soulmate through all the angst. He felt their reciprocation and let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. 

“Victor!”

“Yuri, what's going on?”

“Found your soulmate in the bathroom.”

Victor had always thought he'd bump into his soulmate on the street somewhere, look in their eyes, and know. Something out of a romantic movie. Looking now, however, into the lovely tawny eyes of a Japanese skater who'd just been thrust into his face by Yuri, he was floored.

First of all, he had not been expecting this, not at all. He'd seen the skater before, thought his routines had wonderful emotion but lacked refinement; his raw talent left to boil over. His step sequences, however, were flawless and the highlight of his programs. It was true that he was captivating as well, if you were allowed to really look. His obvious tension had marred his delicate features earlier, but left in a state of shock that matched Victor’s, he was breathtaking. 

Victor did nothing but ogle his soulmate for the first few moments, his brain attempting to make sense of the situation. After noticing that the emotions etched into the face in front of him mirrored his soulmate’s, it really hit him. His soulmate!

“Bathroom!” Victor cheered like an idiot as he threw his arms around the stiff man. He ducked into his neck; had he really just said that? To be fair, his soulmate seemed pretty stunned too. 

The stiffness melted in a flash as Victor was suddenly struggling to hold a limp figure in his arms.

“He fainted,” Yakov said, astonished. Victor, unsurprisingly, flipped out and immediately called over medical personnel. As people crowded around the two of them and Yuri grumbled about some form of thanks to be given, Victor clucked about like a worried hen while his soulmate was lifted by stretcher away from the rink. Yakov attempted to mollify him.

“Ah, Vitya, calm down, I think he just got overwhelmed.”

“Da, idiot. They told you he'd be fine,” Yuri said, and though he thumbed through pictures on Instagram he looked rather affected. Victor huffed indignantly. 

“I'm going to be there when he wakes up,” he said suddenly, and he strode away before any comments about his decision could be made. Yakov muttered something about childishness and how some people never change while Yuri rolled his eyes.

“Don't freak him out again!”

“Bye, Yuri!”

“Vitya! You have to accept your medal! You won for god’s sake!”

“...”

“VITYA!”

“I'm coming!”

***

 


	4. Meeting Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> its ya girl back w a new chapter haha take it pls i don't wanna look at it anymore

Eleven, newly bespectacled, and shy: Yuuri Katsuki was about to go to his new school. It wasn't that his old school was bad, it just wasn't the right fit. Besides, Nishigori went to this school, so he'd have a friend there. 

“Class, this is Katsuki Yuuri, he'll be joining us this year.” His teacher, a smiling man with graying hair, extended an arm in Yuuri's direction.

Yuuri was sure that his soulmate was a good person, but they had wretched timing. Surges of anxiety and depression were not uncommon these days, and though Yuuri was getting nervous about his soulmate, he was always soothed by their apologetic guilt and dashes of pride later. Perhaps they competed in something? Yuuri felt some of the same feelings when he got nervous before competitions.

This was different. This was the taste of iron and salt, like Yuuri's soulmate was a fish being seasoned with negativity. ...Perhaps he shouldn't have skipped breakfast this morning.

“I'm—” was the only word he got out before he collapsed, on his knees, wracked with pain. Like his early childhood, but sharper. More aware. 

The first day of school for Yuuri was, suffice it to say, not that great.

Really,  _ really  _ bad timing.

***

Distant. Victor, no matter how hard he tried, was slowly losing his touch with the ice. Yakov told him he was being too hard on himself, that he expected too much. Every skater had ups and downs, and Victor was no different. Really, this was true, but he'd never had a lack of inspiration this bad. His relationship with the cold, harsh surface had always been so rewarding—the ice knew him better than he did, let him work out his frustrations on sharp blades that etched his very soul into the rink. No matter where he was, the ice was the same. A constant presence, comforting. The ice was always there, hard and indifferent.

But after pining so long for someone he didn't know, he felt lost. He was lucky to have come across Stammi Vicino—the poignant aria’s lyrics spoke so plainly of his situation that he wouldn't be surprised if the author had experienced the same kind of frustration. He'd listened to it in awe while reading the translation, immediately contacting his coach to tell him about the piece. 

Normally he would have been exuberant, his gold streak at the Grand Prix uninterrupted for five years. If the circumstances had been different, he'd have smiled from ear to ear, hugged his friend and competitor Christophe Giacometti as they stood on the podium, bugged Yakov and Yuri. 

This was not how things went.

Firstly, the only thing he could focus on was not literally ruining his reputation as a polite sportsman by missing the medal ceremony. His smile was tight and didn't reach his eyes, which looked anxiously at a confused Chris.

“Victor? You alright?” 

Deep breath. “That man who fainted?”

“Mm?”

“My soulmate.”

Audible gasp. “Really? I wondered why you had to be corralled onto the ice, you normally love this stuff.”

“Well I'm a bit nervous, they had to get a doctor.”

“He did take some bad falls, and the poor thing looked wrecked after that free-skate.” Chris flashed a cheeky grin for the cameras, pulling his friend to his side. “I'll distract them with my manly wiles, you sneak off.”

“I love you.”

“Mm hm, run along now. Andrew isn't going to  _ believe  _ this.”

“Merci!”

***

When he awoke, Yuuri was in his hotel room. The sheets on the bed glowed in the moonlight that fell from a large window across the room, and Yuuri sighed heavily. How had he gotten here? He couldn't remember—

“Please, I'm his soulmate!”

“I'm sorry, but I need documentation for that. The legal requirements for the ISU dictate very clearly how injured skaters are to be treated, and with Mr. Katsuki’s condition, only family are allowed access to the patient. Though that includes soulmates, I'm afraid that substantial evidence is necessary. You understand.”

“But—I only just found out! You see—a younger skater found him in the bathroom and brought him to me and sure we haven't really checked marks officially but I could  _ tell _ what he was feeling and I knew it was him, I knew it and so I came here as quickly as possible because his coach told me that the falls he had earlier were worse than they thought and he was over exerting himself and—”

Victor Nikiforov’s strained voice bled through the space between the door and the carpet. Yuuri mentally smacked himself, how could he forget that he'd met his soulmate?! 

“—He's awake! I can feel that, please check! If he is will you let me in?”

A rather irritated sigh followed suit, “Alright, I'll go in and see how's he doing. We'll see about that second part.” The voice Yuuri couldn't put a name to, but that he assumed belonged to a doctor of some kind, got closer. The door opened slowly and the man spoke again. “Mr. Katsuki?”

“Mm?” 

The doctor raised his eyebrows, looking behind him. He sighed.

“Come in, then, stop moping.” 

Yuuri heard (and felt) Victor's excitement before he saw him. The doctor led him to Yuuri's bedside. “He sustained injuries from his falls during his free skate, and he hasn't been eating properly. Of course, you knew that already because you talked to his coach. His vitals are steady and it looks,” the doctor shone a light in Yuuri's eyes, “like he won't have issues with anything.”

Victor nodded, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. He bit his lip, taking one of Yuuri's hands.

“He'll be alright, won't he?” Victor sounded genuinely concerned.

“Hm? Of course, he's just pushed himself too hard. You said you just met him, correct?”

“Yes.”

“He might be more relaxed right now, I've given him medication for the pain in his right side. He fell on that hip more often.”

“Ah, I assumed. He's calm.”

Yuuri was calm. Victor Nikiforov was at his bedside, nervous and stroking his hand like it was made of glass, and Yuuri was looking at him with a sleepy expression. If he were in his right mind, he would be freaking the hell out.

“Gomen nasai,” he murmured, squeezing Victor's hand with his own. Eyes that looked more like cut gemstones than organs flashed in confusion.

“Eh?” 

Yuuri laughed softly and winced in surprise when it hurt. He supposed that the ice had numbed the pain earlier, perhaps in apology for catching him in such uncomfortable ways. Wait. He must have been given a bit  _ too _ much pain medication, because he was pretty sure that the ice didn't really care one way or the other about whether or not his body slammed into it repeatedly. Somehow, Victor found a way to look more worried than he had before.

“It means I'm sorry,” Yuuri mumbled, shifting in discomfort. 

“Why?” 

When he didn't get an answer, Victor looked toward the doctor, who shrugged.

“I'll be on retainer if you need me,” he said, handing Victor a card with a name and number on it. The skater nodded absently as the man gave him instructions about caring for Yuuri, still focused on his soulmate. 

“Thank you,” Yuuri sighed, and the doctor left with a small wave. “Well, you could've avoided all that arguing outside.”

“Hm?”

“My mark is in the database...it would've been easy to check.” Yuuri said. 

“The...database?”

Yuuri smiled, “I've never been arrested, if that's what you're thinking.”

“Oh,” Victor breathed. “Mind if I ask how it got there, then?”

Yuuri closed his eyes, evaluating the situation. He knew, as many fans did, Victor's backstory. Taken as a child to skate for someone else's monetary gain, no wonder Yuuri had been in such emotional distress as a child. Currently, he wasn't feeling very well or in complete control of his actions, so he decided to save that particular story for later.

“Mm, I'm not feeling like myself right now, I'd rather discuss it later.”

Victor smiled in assurance. “Of course, Yuuri,” he said, rising to walk over and look out the window. “Ah, it's snowing!” Victor glanced back excitedly. “Do you like snow?”

“Always,” Yuuri answered, finding that speaking to his soulmate was much easier when he was high on whatever the doctor had given him. “Our marks.” Yuuri felt Victor's surprise and warmth weave into his body. He yawned. “I would watch the snow falling as a kid and try to see the snowflakes before they melted, to see them the way they are over our hearts.”

He could hear Victor's breath hitch from his place by the window, see his hand wipe away the wetness on his cheeks. Yuuri started to fall asleep basking in Victor's reverence, but he managed to hear, “That's beautiful, Yuuri,” before he did.

***

Being Victor Nikiforov was presumed to be easy. Win, be happy, look good. Victor, in truth, was not quite so shallow. He had cultivated his on ice persona to be a winner, a playboy. Somehow, though he didn't mean for it to happen, the way he was in skates became the way the public saw him off the ice as well. Detached, aloof, a golden boy: unattainable. 

It was horribly lonely. 

One of the only people who saw past it was his skating competitor Christophe Giacometti. Chris had accidentally found him in a coat closet weeping. The younger skater, only seventeen, had placed a hand on Victor's back and stayed with him until he was ready to return to the banquet. It was his senior debut, and the Swiss skater had done well. Victor told him as much as they got out of the closet.

“Oh! Thank you, that means a lot!” Chris had been very timid at first, but as the night wore on, it became clear that they were kindred spirits.

“So, have you met your soulmate?”

“Yeah,” Chris confided. “It was awkward. He's my coach’s son.”

Victor gasped, then laughed. “That's wonderful! I've always considered myself Yakov’s unofficial son, so maybe I'm biased.”

“Ah, Coach is great, but it's been...strange. Andrew is older than me by about three years, and he was kind of intimidating when I first met him.”

“Eh? How so?”

“Well, we didn't meet naturally—Coach saw my mark one day in the locker room and flipped out. He said it was the same mark his son had, in the exact same place.”

“Mind if I ask?”

“Oh! It's edelweiss…”

Victor smiled warmly. “That's my favorite flower!”

Chris looked relieved that he had someone to talk to about his soulmate problems. “Really? I used to pick it all the time and my parents got so mad. There were dead flowers all over my room because I'd pick them and they'd wilt, so I'd go get some more, but I never actually cleaned them up.”

Victor laughed again, clutching his side. “If I had done something like that, Lilia would have skinned me alive!” Chris chuckled along with him, but sighed.

“Anyways...so when I met him, I was terrified. I knew literally nothing about him, only what Coach told me. Coach, bless his heart, was also there when we met, so that added pressure too.”

“Good lord…”

“Mm. So we meet, and Andrew is honestly one of the quietest people I've ever met, but I was so scared to meet him that I spilled marmalade all over his shirt and my cat—who just  _ happens _ to be named Edelweiss—don't laugh! It suits her!”

“Sorry!”

“So Edelweiss started licking the marmalade off and I  _ ran _ .”

“No!”

“Yes! I ran all the way to my room and was inconsolable. Coach apologized—I told him that it was all my fault, of course—and just like that, he was gone.”

“Oh dear.”

“He's stunningly gorgeous to boot.”

“Well, I'm sure he's feeling very put out right now.” 

Chris looked at him incredulously. “Put out?”

“Yes. Imagine meeting the person you're destined to be with and having your shirt ruined. Not only that, a cat comes over and makes it all worse. Sure,  _ you  _ were embarrassed, but what about him? What if you were in his shoes?”

“I'd—be mortified.”

Victor nodded, patting his new friend’s hand. “See? Maybe he's just as worried about what you think of him. Besides,  _ you  _ aren't so bad yourself.”

Chris grins. “Do you really think he's hung up too? And that he thinks I'm hot?”

“I never said that, but I wouldn't mind being your soulmate.” Victor sipped his champagne casually, and looked down in surprise when he was hugged.

“That's the nicest thing anyone's ever told me,” Chris sniffled. Victor smiled. It had been clear that the meeting had been weighing on his mind.

They decided to stay in touch after that, and Victor found that the ache of not knowing where or who or when he'd meet his soulmate lessened when he and Chris were talking. 

Victor was ecstatic when Chris told him he was dating Andrew.

Other than Chris, there weren't many skaters who knew the Victor underneath the playboy. Yuri, who'd been taken shortly before Victor’s captors had been shut down, was raised near the silver-haired skater. Yuri was the reason the men had been caught—Victor had been so enraged by the kidnapping of the infant that he had found a way to contact the police, even though he was found nearly dead at the scene. Despite Yakov’s fear of the repercussions Yuri’s presence might have on Victor once he was free, the two of them were inseparable for months. Yakov always joked that Yuri’s bratty nature came from being spoiled by Victor.

Who else? Georgi, a skater two years younger that Victor. He'd always been wrapped up his many failed relationships, attempting in vain to find his soulmate. He was a good friend, but had always been a bit distant. He couldn't expect to be friends with everybody, though, could he?

Mila was hilarious, and treated Yuri like a little brother (which he hated). Katya was kind, and Svetlana always made sure he ate lunch. Nikolai brought borscht whenever his grandmama made extra, Petra made terrible puns, Heidi helped him with choreography.

No one at the rink, however, was his soulmate.

No one knew his true feelings, ones he hid from Yuri, from Yakov. Guilt. Devastation.

Looking down with blurred vision at the Japanese man fast asleep on the single bed in the hotel room, Victor felt something different. Something strange that couldn't be described, because no matter how many empires had risen and fallen, or wars fought and won, there was no word in any language that accurately represented the feeling of knowing someone so deeply and yet not at all.

A stranger who was closer to you than your parents, an enigma until you met. 

Sometimes Victor had wanted to pull his hair out, almost paying for dubious services that boasted they could find your soulmate. But he had waited. Waited and waited and cried a little and waited. The ice was cold and inanimate but it always knew what he was thinking. Ice skating had the tendency to bring out the emotions Victor tried to hide best, his longing leaking from his soul into the chill of the rink. He'd chosen it as his theme because he had to, if he'd picked something else it would have shown on the ice anyways. He'd rather reveal himself to the world than compromise his skating, he loved the sport too much to not do it justice.

Yuuri shifted in his sleep, mumbling incoherently in his native tongue. Victor looked back out the window from his seat at the desk provided, idly checking his phone while spinning like a child in the chair. He did a double take at the latest twitter news about himself. Tweets regarding his sudden disappearance after the medal ceremony and the fainting spell earlier had caught the attention of skating fans the world over, and speculation was bound to occur. Slipping into his thinking face, he eyed Yuuri. Hesitantly, he touched his mark and waited.

A smile and a pleased sigh from Yuuri. He decided to test the waters some more. 

Love, wonder, adoration. Yuuri twitched in his sleep, rolling onto his left side to face Victor. Still out like a log. Victor bit his lip and forced himself to think of something funny. A moment after he laughed, Yuuri rumbled gently in his sleep. Sadness? A moment of fitfulness (Victor felt bad about that so he quickly sent something sweeter Yuuri's way). 

“Hmm…” Victor smiled, reaching out to stroke jet-black hair. New response: Yuuri nuzzled into his touch, and Victor covered his mouth with his other hand to make sure no sound came out as he  _ squealed _ like a small child. 

“So cute…” he whispered.

***

“Hah?”

Victor woke up suddenly, almost jumping up from the chair he'd fallen asleep in when his phone rang. The cheesy Marimba ringtone buzzed cheerily as he fumbled with the touchscreen, eventually tapping to accept the call.

“Yakov?” he yawned, stretching a bit.

“Vitya, where are you?”

Victor looked over warily at Yuuri, who was still snoring lightly. He breathed a sigh of relief; he hadn't woken him up. He moved to the bathroom for privacy, and to lessen the chance he'd wake his sleeping beauty.

“I'm still with him,” he whispered. 

“Ah. Well, I know it'll be boring as usual, but you have to attend the banquet.”

“Oh, sh—right,” Victor groaned. “They really want me to come?”

“Vitya, we have this conversation every year. You've medaled every year. They want you to be there _every_ _year_.”

Victor grumbled lowly in French, the only language he spoke fluently that Yakov couldn't understand.

“Vitya, I'm no linguist but I know what merde means.”

“Caught me. I'll be down soon.”

Yakov hummed in agreement, “Bring your soulmate with you. The sooner we can get a solid press release, the less ridiculous speculation there will be.”

“I'll see if he's up for it,” Victor replied, and hung up seconds after his coach grunted his thanks as a goodbye. 

He walked back to the bed, sitting slowly next to Yuuri's side. “Yura?”

His soulmate whined and pulled the covers over his face. Victor snorted. 

“Yurachka~.”

“Nani?” Yuuri mumbled. 

“I don't know what that means,” Victor said. That seemed to do the job. Yuuri peeked at him from behind the covers. He squeaked.

Victor waited until he came out of hiding, flushed. Yuuri eyed him tentatively.

“Um...hi?”

“Hello, Yuuri.”

“You—and I was...ahem...I d—mm.” Yuuri stumbled over his words, clearly out of his element. “I—I'm Yuuri...Katsuki Yuuri.”

“I know,” Victor smiled.

“You do…?”

He nodded, “Yes.” He felt a flash of shock, then remembrance. 

“Ah…”

That was it. He turtled in on himself, sinking into the mattress as though if he tried hard enough it would swallow him. Victor decided to respond directly to his nerves and touched his mark, lighting up when Yuuri visibly relaxed.

“That's better, isn't it?” Victor looked expectantly at Yuuri, who smiled shyly.

“Yes,” he said.

“Good. How do you feel?”

“Hm...it doesn't really hurt anymore,” Yuuri said, pressing delicate fingers to his affected hip, wincing slightly. “It just feels like a bruise. Had plenty of those before.”

Victor laughed. “Me as well. How do you feel about attending the banquet?”

Yuuri trembled. “Oh, no. That's not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Y-you did see me out there, right?”

“...Yes?”

Yuuri looked desperate. “I made a complete fool of myself at the Grand Prix! I can't go down there and mingle!”

Victor took his hands into his own. Yuuri’s emotions were a cocktail of embarrassment and guilt. He felt Yuuri's surprise when he reached around to hold him tightly.

“Don't be so harsh on yourself. I know that you lost someone today, it must have been hard.”

Yuuri reciprocated slowly. “I did...my dog died. I got the call from my mom, it really messed up my free skate.”

Victor pressed closer.

“I hadn't seen him in five years...and I—I missed my only chance to say g—goodbye—”

He dissolved into tears, shaking roughly. Victor attempted to keep himself in check, but he felt tears slip from his own eyes. He didn't know what he would do if Makkachin passed, especially during a competition. He stilled suddenly.

“Yuuri...do you mean to tell me that you learned he died before you skated?”

“Yes…”

Victor leaned back to cup Yuuri's face in his hands. “I didn't feel it until my skate—Yuuri, did you—?”

“I didn't want to worry you...I kept the emotions in check for as long as I could before they could escape and reach you...”

“Oh, Yuuri,” Victor shifted Yuuri back into his arms. “Don't hide from me.”

“I'm sorry—”

“Please,” he whispered, wrapped around Yuuri. “We're soulmates. You and I. We are linked in the most intimate way possible, and I can't bear seeing you like this, can't stand to see you feeling guilty.”

Yuuri nodded against his shoulder, midnight hair clashing with Victor's own moonlit waves. 

It was silent for a long time, their marks the only form of  communication between the two of them. They were almost touching, and the electricity was tangible. Yuuri was the first to speak.

“When do you want to leave?”

 

The elevator dinged, doors opening slowly. Yuuri's arm was linked with Victor's, and they stepped out together. Making their way to the ballroom, Victor unhooked their arms and placed his protectively around Yuuri's waist instead.

The gala was in full swing, which was to say that officials, skaters, coaches, and VIPS were chatting inanely about the weather and repeating themselves to new people who didn't know them. The skaters Victor knew well were clustered together and looked ready to fall asleep, and it was with no small amount of pride that he made his way over to them with Yuuri on his arm. Able to feel this, Yuuri elbowed him gently.

“Victor!” Chris grinned and clapped him on the back. “Why I believe we haven't been introduced,” he said, looking pointedly at Yuuri. 

“Ah,” Victor said, “This is Yuuri.”

He glanced at the man beside him, waiting for him to introduce them as soulmates for the first time. He wanted Yuuri to be comfortable. 

“H-hello,” he smiled weakly, taking Chris’s hand. “I'm…”

Victor could feel his apprehension, and calmed him down like he had earlier. Yuuri breathed out and gave a brighter smile.

“We're soulmates.”

 


	5. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lolol banquet and more tears bc who likes suffering?? me

Hello, goodbye, thank you, you as well, you're too kind, thank you for your support.

Yuuri had never repeated himself so many times in one night before. He wished he had a loudspeaker to shout into: “Victor Nikiforov and I are soulmates.” He had been rehashing the news to every sponsor, ISU member, and  _ human being _ in his vicinity who wanted to know (and they  _ all _ wanted to know) what had happened during his rinkside fainting spell. The gala was a mixture of clutching Victor like a lifeline and smiling so much he might break his face. Soft presses against his back led him to believe Victor understood his struggle to be social. He always sent him genuine smiles in return for his trouble. These usually brought warmth to his mark and more often than not a kiss to his temple, which served to end most of the conversations they had (a win-win, really). 

The first time it happened, Victor had snorted into Yuuri's shoulder and they had laughed for a bit at the awkward backing-off of the man they'd been accosted by—Victor had much fun at the expense of their conversational partners, seeing how much affection they could stand to be around before they left in a blushing hurry, feeling they had intruded. Yuuri giggled whenever Victor commented on their flight. 

“Was it something I said?”

Yuuri hid his mirth in Victor's dinner jacket.

Much to Yakov’s chagrin, they wouldn't be able to speak to the press until the next morning, which meant everyone wanted a personal interview (even though they pretty much knew the story already because news travelled fast when there was literally nothing else of interest to talk about).

He was happy,  _ very _ happy (if a bit bewildered), but he didn't want to be out in a throng of people; he'd rather be getting to know his soulmate—even recognizing Victor as his soulmate in his mind made him float with joy—somewhere quiet. Though they were enjoying each other's company immensely, it wasn't quite the same with the pressure of the crowd suffocating their interactions. Yuuri knew Victor well enough from his emotions to have figured out that he didn't tell the media everything.

Victor had never been this active before, keeping Yuuri calm and comfortable enough to talk to people for hours while making him laugh at every possible juncture. He felt Victor's energy deflating and insisted they sit down at a table and rest. Victor agreed, snagging a flute of champagne from a passing server.

“They do have excellent taste when it comes to liquor,” he whispered, his lips brushing against Yuuri's ear. “As long as you pace yourself you'll find the whole event more enjoyable. I like to think they do it on purpose. Of course, you'll just have to trust my opinion, I wouldn't want you to drink anything with that medication in your system.”

Yuuri blushed, shying away from him slightly. Being so close to him was not difficult when he was soothed by Victor's relaxed emotions, but as the night wore on, Victor’s strength  _ had _ waned. Even with their shared jokes earlier, this felt more intimate. Of course, Yuuri was far from complaining.

“Mm...” Yuuri answered, sipping his own water slowly. They had chosen a table near the door; Yuuri was quickly hatching plans to escape. He felt a chuckle beside him.

“We would have to be expertly sneaky,” Victor sighed. “They're like hawks.”

“Boring hawks,” Yuuri found himself whining. “How many times do I have to tell people the same news they've been gossiping about all evening? Do they all want it straight from the horse’s mouth?”

Victor looked confused. “I don't believe I know that saying in English. What does it mean?”

“That they want to hear it from us, not other people,” Yuuri had forgotten that Victor hadn't spent much time in America, worldly as he was.

“Hm, how interesting.”

“Americans have lots of strange phrases. Celestino has lived there for so long as a coach that he speaks the way they do. I kind of picked up a few things from him and my friends in the states.”

“He does sound rather American,” Victor commented. 

This was nice, their chatting about meaningless things. Like it was commonplace for them to do so, latched together as they were: Victor's arm still snug about his waist, Yuuri's hand placed over Victor's stomach. They leaned into each other's space, heads almost touching. He'd been so enamoured with Victor he hadn't even brought his phone, he realized. His friends and family would most likely be freaking out, he'd only sent them small messages about the situation—he didn't want them to learn who his soulmate was from an online article or a tweet. If Yuuri'd been watching himself and his soulmate as a third party, he would have looked away in embarrassment for intruding on such an intimate moment, as the rest of the partygoers had when Victor showered him with PDA. Victor was adamant about being in Yuuri's space. He smelled vaguely of flowers and citrus.

“Victor, Yuuri! I finally found you two again,” a girl said, slipping into a chair on the other side of their table. She had tan skin and violet eyes, and she smiled at them as she leaned over conspiratorially. “Are you thinking of running off too? It's so blah here! My brother isn't helping either, I haven't been able to talk to anybody he deems a threat to my “honor” all night!”

Victor nodded at her first comment and chuckled at the latter. Yuuri returned her smile, “You're Sara, right? Crispino?”

“Yes! I'm here with my twin, Michele!”

“Sara, there you are!” A Russian skater from the women's division plopped down next to her. 

“Mila,” Victor said, “Where's little Yuri?”

She made a face. “He's being a sourpuss! Slinking around like an alley cat, trying to steal champagne. I kinda feel for him, though,” she sighed. “I can't imagine what one of these things would be like without alcohol.” 

“It's pretty gruesome,” Yuuri said, rubbing his right side with a grimace. Victor's anesthetic of peace washed out whatever he was going to say next. The silvery blonde started suddenly.

“Oh!” He pulled a pill bottle out of his jacket pocket. “It's been several hours, the doctor told me—”

Victor continued to go in-depth about Yuuri's pain regimen, the girls hiding their smiles behind their hands. 

“What a mother hen!” Sara giggled.

“They're so cute, Victor isn't even normally like this! He's being so sweet,” Mila sighed. “Why can't we all find love, Sara? I wanna meet my soulmate!”

“You're looking in all the wrong places,” Sara said, elbowing her. “Really? That hockey player? He was such a dimwit. Haven't you met JJ? Not all Canadians fit the stereotype.”

“He seemed so nice, I really thought we could be soulmates. We clicked.”

“His sense of humor was terrible.”

“Maybe I just liked the free poutine…”

“You love free food more than you do your boyfriends, certainly.”

“Mila,” Victor turned his attention away from Yuuri, his medical rant over. Yuuri didn't understand the rest of the conversation, as most of it was rapid-fire Russian with laughing—most likely aimed at Mila’s ex(es?)—spaced throughout. He faced Sara and they discussed at length the differences between programs expected of female skaters and those of men. 

“I just find it so sexist that there are moves specifically for women! I mean I get that our bodies are different in some ways—”

“But artistic expression and the athletic power of jumps are both important components in a routine and shouldn't be divided based on gender, yes!”

“It's so frustrating!”

“You know, my ballet teacher really helped me a lot with making my moves look more ambiguous on ice,” Yuuri said, now thoroughly invested in the conversation. “And watching Victor while I was growing up was like a breakthrough, because his performances were always so androgynous when he was younger. I remember the first time he did a Biellmann spin during a competition.”

“Hm? Do I hear something about me?” Victor turned to Yuuri, smiling. For what felt like the first time that day, Yuuri smiled back without caution or flushing and caught him up on what they'd been talking about. 

The rest of the night was a blur: getting up and being paraded around once more, then leaning heavily on his babbling soulmate, almost  _ actually _ falling asleep during a conversation with a sponsor, and then Victor's insistence that they had to leave. Yuuri wasn't the one who needed to be convinced, but the people who'd come all this way to see the gold medalist were stubborn. It got to the point where Victor smiled politely, swung Yuuri into a bridal carry, and then proceeded to the door, anger diminishing the farther he got from the party.

“It's not that I don't like them,” he huffed, “It's more that they don't know when to stop. I mean really, you're practically sleeping in my arms as it is.”

Yuuri said nothing, trying to keep his eyes open.

“Can't they talk to someone else, anyone else? Chris can talk for hours, and he's drunk as a skunk to boot so he'll be very honest—”

Victor talked all the way up to Yuuri's room, only stopping when he gently set Yuuri down, falling into bed next to him. It registered in the back of his mind that Victor had been trying to stay awake long enough to make sure Yuuri got back safely. He mumbled out a groggy thank you in return, and felt one last thread of happiness before he went under.

***

“Guh,” Yuuri gasped, waking with a start. He'd had the strangest dream. Victor Nikiforov was his soulmate and they'd gone to the banquet together. He shook his head, getting up to change out of his suit. He must have drunk too much this year, because he didn't remember anything but the wonderful dream his subconscious had concocted to distract him from reality. 

“Ugh,” he looked in the bathroom mirror, the lights forcing him to squint after he closed the door. He sighed and peeled off his clothes, slipping into the shower. His right side was bruised pretty badly, and he touched the darkening mark with twitches in his facial expression. Test this area—wince. How bad is—grimace. He toweled off and put on the shirt and boxers he'd blindly snatched from his suitcase and brushed his wet hair out, shrugging in front of his reflection with an “Eh.”

He yawned widely and went back to bed, moving carefully and slowly so as not to agitate his side. He must have done something wrong though because he let out a sharp gasp, tumbling the rest of the way down on the mattress. A figure rose from the other side of it and he let out the single most embarrassing noise he'd ever made. The “Eep?!” spooked the stranger too, shadows that must have been an arm and hand clutching their chest. 

“Yuuri, are you alright? You sounded like you were in pain!” 

The unmistakable voice shattered any illusions of a dream, because Victor was hovering over him in worry and his mark was burning with anxiousness. Yuuri couldn't help it; he broke down into tears. Honestly he was amazed he hadn't done this sooner—even though he'd cried in Victor's arms before, it hadn't been as nasty a storm of emotions—because the shock alone had made him stressed, but this whole world-changing event had stretched him to his limit and his side  _ hurt  _ so bad and…

He sobbed violently into an offered chest, holding on to Victor with everything he had. His mind had kept bottling everything up since he'd been kidnapped from the bathroom stall—and he hadn't even been finished crying for his lost dog, twice was certainly not enough to satisfy the powerful grief within him. Victor had been keeping him cool all night and it was clear that he was distressed, his hands in Yuuri's hair, on his back, soothing and comforting and he must have been at a loss. He didn't have the stamina to stabilize Yuuri's emotions, so for now he would have to ride the waves with him until they turned from tsunamis to ripples. He let Yuuri  _ ruin _ what must have been thousands of dollars or Euros or something of dress shirt, but it was clear he wasn't thinking of it at all as he attempted to placate Yuuri in his mother tongue.

Their boat in the endless ocean of Yuuri's breakdown steadied after an amount of time Yuuri didn't care to measure, he only knew it was long enough for his eyes to feel dry and his nose to clog horribly. Victor, between his Russian lullaby of words that could have been anything from endearments to what he wanted to have for breakfast the next morning, groped his trouser pockets for a pack of tissues. He managed to obtain them and shifted Yuuri into a sitting position, handing them over while tracing his fingers over Yuuri's back. 

After blowing his nose (feeling much better afterwards) and drying his eyes, Yuuri stood and searched his bag for some face lotion. He rubbed his eyes and cheeks with it, sniffing before turning back to Victor, who was waiting for him—wide awake. Yuuri took him in, messed up clothes and light sweat. He smiled, though it was small.

“I have some old, comfortable t-shirts I wear to bed...I like to feel engulfed in them at night,” he admitted with a blush. He grabbed one from his suitcase and looked from his soulmate to the recently used shower. “The water pressure is nice...um.”

Victor’s eyes lit up in understanding. “Oh! Thank you,” he said, voice dripping sincerity. He made his way to the shower, only stopping to kiss Yuuri's cheek, and was out within fifteen minutes. In that time Yuuri had slunk back into bed and was still alert when he felt arms encircle him. He turned to face his captor with a small sigh, pressing his face into Victor's neck. Victor was very careful to avoid touching or disturbing his injury. He felt more than heard a contented hum, his soulmate smelling faintly of Yuuri's tsubaki blossom shampoo. It was so domestic Yuuri couldn't help his surge of happiness.

“I see—hm,  _ feel  _ you're feeling better?”

“Yes,” Yuuri murmured. “Much.”

Victor hummed again, his own joy thrumming past their marks. He massaged Yuuri's scalp gently.

“Tell me what you were thinking about when you were crying.”

“What?” That was unexpected.

“I mean—I want to know why, I guess. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I'd like to...know more about it, I suppose. Maybe I could help. I'm no good around someone who's crying.”

Yuuri settled his body against Victor's, and he closed his eyes, the pale column of Victor's throat slipping from his vision.

“You remember I told you my dog passed, right?”

“Yes.”

“I got him as a child, and after I left for Detroit—in America—I didn't see him again. It was...five years that we were apart. But I guess from now on it'll be the rest of my life until I see him again. You already knew all that, but I really loved Vicchan. I'm going to miss him...I do already.”

“I understand that, losing a dog is the worst feeling.”

Yuuri nodded into Victor's chest. “He was named after you,” he said. He heard Victor's smile.

“Vicchan, hm? I bet I would have liked him.”

“He was a small poodle, like a miniature of yours.”

Victor giggled, “That's so cute!”

Yuuri smiled back, he really needed to talk about his childhood pet. “He used to bark at birds. Like all of them, no bird was safe.”

“Makkachin is like that with cats, I visited Yuri once with him and and he gave me hell for making his kitty scared,” Victor said. Yuuri laughed.

“He had a personal vendetta, when he was a puppy a bird stole his treat.”

“Oh, well that's understandable. Makkachin is just bad with felines, I'm afraid. Not really a fan.”

“Vicchan once sat for ten minutes barking at one bird when we were on a walk.”

“He sounds like he was a little rebel.”

Yuuri's grip on the back of the shirt he loaned Victor tightened. “Oh god, I miss him so much,” he whispered, and their conversation halted for a moment. Victor hummed something that sounded vaguely like Tchaikovsky while Yuuri took deep breaths to calm down. 

Victor spoke again once his hummed symphony had ended. “You'll like Makkachin, at least I hope you will. He loves meeting new people, I'm sure he'll enjoy meeting his new papa. I spoil him a bit, but he's a good boy—even if he gets into everything. He does jump on people he knows, so the might take some getting used to. Of course, I don't know where you want to live, I don't know much about Detroit but Japan is beautiful in the spring, right? I hear all about cherry blossoms but I've never been in Japan for a competition during that time! I feel like I've been missing out, have I? Eh—? Yuuri?”

Victor stopped talking to pull away and caress Yuuri's face. He was crying, but he was happy.

“You want to live with me?” Yuuri choked out, smiling so wide he tasted the salt of his tears. Victor's expression softened.

“Yes, Yura. I do. Of course I do. Now that I've found you I'm never letting you go.”

Victor pressed their foreheads together, then kissed his nose, his tears, his cheeks. Yuuri placed a finger over Victor's lips to stop him, looking at him shyly before leaning in to kiss him on the mouth. He tasted like salt and mint toothpaste, with the faintest hint of the champagne from earlier. Their first kiss was longer than Yuuri had thought it would be, but once he'd slotted their mouths together, Victor had taken the opportunity to deepen and prolong it. Yuuri did not mind at  _ all _ . It wasn't his first kiss, but it was certainly the headiest. His breathing quickened, his pulse was racing, and he was so close to Victor that he knew the same was happening to him. Victor let out faint gasps when they broke for air, which never lasted long because he dove back in again, and Yuuri met him halfway in his own excitement. Yuuri felt his lips and tongue grow sore, but he couldn't be bothered to care to because God damn he'd never been kissed like this, never been reverently held and murmured to in Russian, never felt so intensely his soulmate’s—Victor's!—love for him. He'd known him his whole life, and had loved him, too. Now, as Victor and his soulmate fused into one being, he shared his elation with the man who held him, and felt adoration in return. 

He panted, spent, and now it was Victor who smiled at him, shy. “Wow…”

“Mm-hm.”

“ _ Wow _ .”

“Hmm, you already said that,” Yuuri teased. Where had this confidence come from? Victor seemed to like it though. He laughed softly.

“I know,” he murmured. “It was worth more than one wow. Maybe worth too many.”

Yuuri nuzzled into Victor's chest, practically purring. He kissed Victor's mark, reveling in the intoxicating mix of their emotions and Victor's surprise. When he touched his soulmate’s mark directly, it was like they were one person. After he got over his shock, Victor squeezed Yuuri one last time.

“We should sleep. We have to figure out our plans for the future.”

Yuuri nodded, “Yeah, it's not everyday you meet your soulmate, either. I'm so tired, I'm surprised we stayed up this long.”

“Hmm, I think I know why~.”

“ _ Goodnight _ , Victor.”

A final kiss against the crown of his head.

“Goodnight, Yura.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha yeah this has been in my drive for like months but i was busy w school and anxiety and depression so yeah but hey here it is. didn't really know what i wanted to do w this fic in the beginning but i think the mafia will come into play (no, neither of them are in it but the ppl who used victor maybe were a branch or were paid to produce quality skaters??? not sure) anyways, hoped u liked it <3


	6. Breathing in Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a distance between what you know and what you don’t. Sometimes you feel as if you can reach a distant beacon, only to realize that it isn’t what you thought it was at all. Or you reach it in seconds, and realize how simple it is and how complicated you made it out to be. Soulmates know they are in love, or friends, or both. Sharing an emotional connection is as thrilling an experience as it is annoying, as filled with happiness as it is heartbreak. Only a few cases have been documented where soulmates are so close that every twinge of one heart is felt by another, and this is one of those cases. Welcome back.

The sun was as annoying as it was soothing, warmth laced with some feeling of relaxation, all from a ball of gas constantly exploding. Yuuri shielded himself from it with a huff, pulling an incoherent mumble from Victor. Silver hair pooled in Yuuri’s clavicle, tickling gently. He smiled to himself, squeezing his  _ soulmate  _ tighter, last night’s tears salty and dry in his eyes, and he rubbed the sand out carefully.

“Victor?” Yuuri said softly, and a beat passes through them, flowing warmly between Victor’s heart and Yuuri’s—this will take some getting used to. Yuuri was already nervous and sweating a bit, he was sure Victor wouldn’t care a bit if his hair was mussed and his eyes had red traces from sobbing. Victor, lifting his head, looked hazily at Yuuri, pouting.

“Not a…sun person…”

“Sun person?”

Victor huffed like he had a few moments ago, and thin wisps of platinum blew up from his unamused face. “Words difficult. Early.”

“Ah…morning person? That’s what you meant?” Yuuri had to stifle giggles as Victor nodded, gesturing vaguely to the window.

“English sucks,” he responded, a bit more awake, and Yuuri smiled.

“Mm, unfortunately it’s the language common we have in common.”

“Teach…Japanese?” 

_ Ok. Less awake now, _ Yuuri thought, pressing his hand against Victor’s back and running it up and down in a soothing manner. Victor looked as if he could fall back asleep any second, and Yuuri would let him. There were lots of things to decide and dwell on, but his soulmate’s day wouldn’t benefit from a lack of sleep. With such important tasks—deciding where to live (probably Russia), who Yuuri’s coach would be (most likely Yakov), and how Yuuri would finish his college courses. Soulmate meetings were protected under law, as the meeting was one of the most important events in a person’s life. Newly met soulmates needed to be together or the Rubber Band Effect, where if the souls snapped together and apart too much too soon, the bond could break like cheap elastic. This often led to tragic ends for both souls and their bearers—none experienced the RBE and lived to tell about it. 

Obviously Wayne State University would find ways for Yuuri to finish his classes, and even though he would miss Phichit, he and his roommate would have no choice in parting. Phichit had been one of his first messages after his family, as this impacted him directly, and Yuuri reached over to the bedside table and picked up his phone to see what his best friend had replied.

**~It’s Phich Bitch~**

**[sent from: me]**

**Hi phich, so you may have seen the ehhh akdjfjgjdkkdkdkd oko k mcdmdm vicotr nikigorvor is my ficjfjfn soulmate ncdjdjdjjd**

**> disregard my previous message. so Victor nikiforov is my soulmate. **

**> I’m...freakin out (╯°□°)╯︵**

Yuuri winced at the first message he’d sent Phichit. He had been...medicated and in shock. Happy shock but he’d still been wigging out, as Celestino would say. His eyes widened as he read the response.

**~It’s Phich Bitch~**

**[sent from: Hamtoro’s Daddy]** (—Yuuri did  _ not _ name him that, he swears)

**YUURI HOLY FUCK**

**> (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`) ༼ つ ಥ_ಥ ༽つ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:**

**> that’s me blessing u bitch**

**> I can’t beliebe u found ur soulmate omg ily**

**> bruh**

**> twitter is bLOWINF UP**

**> ahshsjssjfkgkgk there’s a fucking,, Twitter moment **

**> oooooooooohhhh betch I’m listening to moonlight by ag and,,,,, ur song??**

**> ok I’ve never met winctor nikwinforov but like…I’m coping by finding ur song **

**> also be I know ur bitch ass won’t find ur song on ur own**

**> there’s so much speculation and lots of rumors**

**> no press conference? Or statement?**

**> that’s ok, ok sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

(Yuuri winced. Phichit’s extended ‘so’s always led to interesting and sometimes viral consequences.)

**> ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ don be mad**

**> I may have...screencapped ur earlier messages and post3d them to insta**

**> if u murder me pls let me winner mcwinnerson first I need his autograph**

Yuuri felt lean arms trap him further, responding instantly to this new development. Yuuri could never be angry with Phichit, and he’d certainly never murder him. 

**~It’s Phich Bitch~**

**[sent from: me]**

**I know where you live Benedict**

**> death is imminent**

**[sent from: Hamtoro’s Daddy]**

**YUUUUUURIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**> damage control**

**> there were some nasty things floating around, so I set some things straight **

**> haha**

**[sent from: me]**

**Haha**

**> also I’m Liam neesan-ing ur ass**

**> write ur will **

**[sent from: Hamtoro’s Daddy]**

**♪~ ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ me accepting my fate and going to designate my hamsters all of my worldly possessions**

“Jesus,” Victor laughed, shaking from it as he read their conversation. Yuuri glanced at him, smiling. 

“I won’t really kill him, but I may have to protect him from Celestino,” he responded, sighing heavily. “I’m sure Coach won’t be happy with him, even if he was trying to help.”

Victor hummed, pulling his phone out of the folds of the rumpled sheets. He set it back down immediately and then, for good measure, shoved it further under the covers. Yuuri’s eyebrows quirked.

“Ehhh…” Victor whined, “I really don’t want to deal with that.”

“How bad is it?”

“Don’t go on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook…basically any form of social media.” Victor slid his warm hand against Yuuri’s soulmark, tracing the delicate lines of the linked snowflakes. Yuuri felt his apprehension and anxiety about dealing with his various accounts, and, tossing his phone somewhere after texting Phichit goodbye, he activated his core strength and flipped their positions. 

Victor blinked, surprised, and then pulled Yuuri forward with a smirk. Kissing his soulmate was like licking into a lollipop: sweet and vaguely sticky, except this sweetness was more of a feeling (Yuuri certainly hoped it covered his morning breath). They parted sooner than they had the night earlier, Yuuri resting his cheek over Victor’s mark. It felt like a hearth, burning bright with varying shades of love. The love Victor had for his soulmate, and the love he was bathing Yuuri in, and all of the colors of it in between. Victor was still in the process of becoming synonymous with his soulmate, and Yuuri knew it would take a moment to mesh their souls. Right now, their souls were magnetized towards each other, and this delicate process was called—

“Yuura, we’re syncing,” Victor whispered excitedly. Yuuri raised his head to press his forehead to Victor’s. Wide blue eyes bore into him as he sank back down, this time with his own mark over Victor’s. With a deep breath, Yuuri gazed back at Victor, who wrapped an arm around his waist and used his palm to push Yuuri the rest of the way down so that their marks touched through their sleep shirts. 

Light emanated from where they met, electricity burning in their veins. This wasn’t even the most powerful their connection could be and it was sparking with flickering flames, blue and white, hot to the touch. Victor’s eyes glowed softly, beautifully. He touched Yuuri’s face in awe, like Yuuri was some sort of miracle. 

Breaths were shared, the moment not totally silent for the hum of their soul currents and the unexpected flames that danced between them. Yuuri blinked back sudden tears, but unbidden they spilled down his face and onto Victor’s, and they too glowed a gentle blue. 

“Yuuri,” Victor breathed, and it came out differently, like a new language that they shared alone. It slipped off his tongue and Yuuri, unable to hold back, kissed him again, more desperately. The need to be connected even further was stronger than any other need he’d ever had. His physical body wasn’t his own, it was a suit he wore to breathe the air in this world, to bring him, his soul, one and the same, closer to Victor. 

He sank his hands into Victor’s hair, weaving himself into his soulmate further. This is what the world had tried to prepare them for, this melding of souls.

But it was so much more powerful between them, flames licking their bodies and burning through the thin shirts they wore. When their marks met, no barriers, Yuuri broke the kiss to gasp in pain.

Every feeling they’d ever experienced over their entire lives, all at once.

The deep, intimate breaths had been replaced with sharp, harsh pants as Yuuri struggled to handle the pain. Victor carefully separated their marks, gentle and slow. He stroked Yuuri’s face, sitting up to help him recover.

“I’m sorry, lapochka,” he murmured, fingers sifting through dark hair. Yuuri didn’t cry, but he had been too surprised by the reaction of their marks to process any of what he’d felt. After being held for a while, calming down his heart to keep it from shattering, Yuuri looked up into Victor’s barren eyes.

“No tears…” Yuuri reached up and ran his thumb over Victor’s dry cheeks, cupping his jaw. 

“Not for the past.” He smiled, kissing Yuuri’s nose. “Not when I have you.”

Yuuri curled himself up in Victor’s lap, clinging just a bit. He pouted.

“My shirts…”

Victor’s laughter shook him into snickering a little himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nfjfsjdnfdskjfnsdkjfsdkjfsdjfdsnfksbdfhk um so I’m back. Like over a year later. Shorter chapters for now bc I haven’t written in sooo long, and I will explain all the soul-lingo in-universe. Also I’m an Ariana stan if u couldn’t tell ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I missed writing and hopefully updates will be easier for me: I’m going back to college in a couple of weeks and I’m so excited and nervous bc I’ve been on medical leave for ten and half months and I’m sooooooo ready to back *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)
> 
> I read a post once that said if a fic isn’t updated in like over eight months the writer won’t finish it, and I DO have a plan for this fic, and it might take me a while but I’m going to do it!!


End file.
